


homeward bound

by cress_ent



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Compasses, Dream SMP War, Gen, Post-Exile, Relationship Study, implied suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cress_ent/pseuds/cress_ent
Summary: tommy turns it back over, watching the needle swing about for a few moments before settling on a direction, strong and constant and steady. wilbur hadn’t been lying, at least — it’s pointing towards l’manberg.why hasn’t tubbo come to visit him? why hasn’t there even been a note, or a letter, or something ?ORtommy has a lot of time to think when he's alone.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	homeward bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radmadlads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radmadlads/gifts), [galacticss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticss/gifts).



> // obligatory "this is about the characters they play in the dream smp lore and not the actual people" disclaimer
> 
> // [dream voice] According to AO3 Statistics, only a small percentage of my readers actually leave kudos and comments. So if you end up liking this fic, please consider leaving a kudos or comment - it's free, and you can always remove it later if you change your mind. Enjoy the fic.

tommy hasn’t been able to sleep recently.

ghosts don’t sleep. ghosts don’t need to eat, don’t need to sleep, don’t need to worry about things like _discs_ and _war_ and _enemies_. (sometimes tommy thinks maybe it would be easier, to be a ghost.) (he pushes the thought from his mind as soon as it enters, but it clings to the crevices of his brain like cobwebs he can’t quite shake away.)

if he moves his head about three inches to the right, he can look past the edge of his hastily made tent and up towards the stars. 

(they always make him feel so small.)

(he wonders if tubbo looks up at the same stars each night, and wonders if tubbo thinks about whether tommy is looking up at them too.)

tommy looks to the side of his tent — it feels so cramped in here, even though he can look out at the ocean and the hills around him and up at the stars and the sky — and sees his ender chest, soft violet particles appearing every few seconds before dissipating into the air. there’s a lot of things in there, things tommy values and treasures — that’s why they’re in there in the first place — but he thinks that the newest addition to its repertoire might be more important to him than the other discs he owns.

(he’s got to thank wilbur for the gift, again, later. he already did, when he first received it, but — it means a lot to him. more than he thinks he was able to communicate.) (maybe tommy’s got to get better at that, too. saying how much he cares about things, how much he appreciates things. maybe that’s where he went wrong.) 

with a sigh, he pushes up off of his bed, rubbing his tired eyes before opening the ender chest, taking out the small compass wilbur handed him earlier. 

it glows, slightly, a soft shimmering of green that tommy can’t help but notice (that’s tubbo’s colour) (he misses him) (god, he misses tubbo), and when he turns it over he can just barely make out the swirling inscription on the back, _‘to your tubbo.’_

_his_ tubbo. 

(“you’re a liability.”)

tommy turns it back over, watching the needle swing about for a few moments before settling on a direction, strong and constant and steady. wilbur hadn’t been lying, at least — it’s pointing towards l’manberg. 

why hasn’t tubbo come to visit him? why hasn’t there even been a note, or a letter, or _something_? (why did he call tommy a liability) (is that all he is to tubbo) (someone standing in the way of l’manberg) (does he care) (does he know tommy cares) 

tommy flips the compass over again, watching the needle resettle in the direction of l’manberg (tubbo) (home). 

dream said earlier that wilbur gave tubbo a matching compass. tommy would be lying if he said that meant something to him. tubbo doesn’t care. tubbo taking the compass, if he took it at all, had to just be for show. if tubbo had cared—

(he wouldn’t be out here) (they wouldn’t need the compasses in the first place) (if tubbo had cared, everything would hurt a lot less) (if tubbo had cared, he wouldn’t be so alone.) (so maybe tubbo doesn’t care.)

he doesn’t know how long he sits there, flipping the compass back and forth to watch the needle resettle in the same direction every time, the gaping pit in his chest growing wider with every passing second, every soft hush of wind travelling over empty plains and unsettled forests. he’s tired. so tired. it gets harder to sleep each night. (he’s memorized the stars at this point. can point own the constellations he makes for himself, “that one’s henry, and this one’s clara — she’s the girl in the stars, wilbur, i told you this story before—” and he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.) (there’s a little pile of blue crystals in a chest in logsteadshire, and it grows taller every day, and tommy has an idea of where they came from but he doesn’t want to ask wilbur. doesn’t want to confirm his worst suspicions.) (wilbur is always happy. tommy isn’t.)

the thought enters his mind to ask wilbur, later — do the compasses stop working when they die? out of curiosity, tommy tells himself, he just wants to know in case anything happens in the future, but he knows he’s lying to himself. 

(his real reasons for wanting to know aren’t nearly as innocent as mere curiosity.)

he flips the compass over. runs his hands along the swirling engravement. _your tubbo_ . his tubbo. (he sure doesn’t feel like _his_ tubbo, anymore.) 

tommy lets out a heavy breath. stows the compass back in his ender chest. lies back down on his bed, and if he moved his head three inches to the right, he could see the stars. 

he doesn’t.

tommy rolls onto his side, (the stark white cloth of his tent stares back at him,) closes his eyes, and wishes desperately for sleep that never seems to come.

**Author's Note:**

> my writing style? varying wildly because of what i saw a friend write and i wanted to put my own spin on it? couldn't be me.
> 
> anyways. the compasses hurt me very deeply and i spiralled about it with some friends so shoutout to the sophsmp discord for letting me aggressively yell and then also hurt them with this!! and shoutout to the cited sources gc for convincing me its okay to post fic again even when i get Frustrated about it. thank you for reading !!


End file.
